


I will be God when it comes to you

by treesramblings



Category: Knives Out (2019), Marvel, Marvel 3490
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dark, Dom Ransom Drysdale, F/M, Genderswap, Light BDSM, MIT Era, Murder Kink, Possessive Behavior, Sub Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:20:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28933173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treesramblings/pseuds/treesramblings
Summary: Toni is seventeen, a senior at MIT, and one of the smartest people alive. She built a car engine when she was seven. She’s already single handedly revolutionized artificial intelligence, DUM-E’s basic code being upgraded daily. Her current work deals with creating an AI that will be able to make phone calls, schedule appointments, and order machinery parts with a simple voice command. Her AI will have a personality. No one will dare compare her work to fuckingSiri.Even knowing just these things about her, how much she’s accomplished in her short life so far, Toni feels small and helpless with this man behind her.
Relationships: Ransom Drysdale/Natasha Stark, Ransom Drysdale/Tony Stark
Comments: 18
Kudos: 38





	I will be God when it comes to you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tonysstarks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonysstarks/gifts).



> thank you blue for the beta. I love you.
> 
> for peach, because she’s the only one who can rival my thirst for chris evans.
> 
> how dare there be zero E fics in the ransom/tony tag. rantony? tonsom? drystark? starkdale? ironknife? whatever. it’s the truest travesty.
> 
> I wrote this and posted from my phone, so sorry for any mistakes.
> 
> title from to artina by langston hughes.

The air is thick, muggy like a Florida summer night, and Toni’s nose burns while each breath coats her lungs with moisture. People bump against her body, headless of anyone else’s comfort except their own, as she heads for the make-shift bar. Alcohol is the only sure fire way that she’s going to make it through the end of the night. A hand runs down her back and over her ass, and Toni turns with a glare, but the perpetrator has already moved on.

They say intimacy is about being close, feeling the press of someone against your skin, but it’s not. There’s nothing intimate about drunk, horny coeds filling an empty void in their life by dressing up and pretending they can find something meaningful at a sorority party. Parties give you fifteen minutes of joy and a lifetime of adequacy issues.

Toni knows she gets invited to these parties because she’s rich. No one actually likes her all that much. She doesn’t think it’s self-pity to believe that. She has Rhodey, she has Ana and Jarvis, she has Janet, and she has—

Well. She has people she knows like her for _her_ , for Toni and not Toni Stark, heiress to Stark Industries. Time and time again, she’s let herself be petty, let herself think poorly of the people at these parties. They’re jealous of her intelligence, her looks, her money, and suck up to her because they want everything she has. Everything they’re not.

She’s smarter than anyone in this dump—the constant praise from her faculty, the awards from the Dean, the media attention, it all confirms what she already knows. It’s never enough.

The crumbs of praise and compliments she gets from these parties are supposed to sustain her, supposed to fill her own empty void. She doesn’t know, not anymore, why this is where she goes for that attention. Maybe it’s because she knows their intentions without having to guess. Maybe it’s because the feel of a soft wrist against her cheek is so different than the slap she’s used to at home.

It’s not really any of that. Not really at all. She lies to herself and says she doesn’t know why, but she does.

If Antonia had been born Anthony, this is the exact place Howard would want her to be.

The attention she’s given, no matter how fleeting or fake it is, is exactly what she craves at home.

The sorority bartender gives her a drink, some fruity margarita, and Toni has to get away. The air has begun to press against her sides, threatening to suffocate her, and she needs space. She needs to observe, not interact.

The inside of the house is even worse than the outside, streamers and red solo cups strewn across the marble floor. The spiral staircase is wide, and people litter the steps, but Toni can picture her destination clearly in her mind. She pushes past two boys making out near the bottom. Throws off a high girl’s wandering hand. Snarls at a man, his wet-shirt clinging to his skin, as he knocks into her and almost spills her drink. Her fight up the staircase seems endless, and it’s as though hours have passed when she finally plants her feet on the landing at the top.

Toni finds the bedroom that leads to the balcony. She jimmies the door lock and walks in, shutting and locking the door behind her. Her shoulders fall away from her ears, tension drifting away with a sigh of relief. The room is unused this year, bare of even a bed, and lava runs down her back, her eyes drifting over to the fresh carpet in the corner of the room. Fresh paint coats the walls. Toni doesn’t know if it’s her imagination or not, but the paint seems especially thick next to the new carpet.

She sips at her drink, walks over to the balcony doors, and unlocks them.

The left door still sticks.

The metal railing is cold underneath her bare arms as Toni looks out at the lavish sorority backyard. She takes another sip of her lukewarm margarita. The wind swirls against her bare legs. Whispers of conversations climb through the air to greet her ears, fake laughs and faker moans abusing her senses. The stench of alcohol floats around the house, not unlike a morning haze, with nicotine and marijuana breaking the monotony every so often.

Toni doesn’t know why she comes to these. Habit, maybe. Keeping up appearances. Free booze.

“Hey, Stark,” a voice calls behind her, and Toni glances over her shoulder to the sight of Tiberius Stone.

“I thought I told you not to come near me again.” Rich white frat boys are all the same. Even though Toni used to give Ty the time of day, used to let him up into her apartment and into her bed, she’s done with him. Toni doesn’t need him anymore.

If only he would take the fucking hint. She isn’t _his_.

“Aw, babe.” He drops his tone low to an octave that used to send shivers down her spine. “Don’t you want to get outta here with me? I know how stressful your midterms must have been. Professor Vanko hasn’t been giving you any breaks…”

Ty’s hand slides up her side, fingertips catching on the mesh material underneath her chest. Toni tenses, shifting her weight in preparation of him not taking no for an answer. Instead, the balcony door creaks behind them.

“Stone.”

Ty steps back from her, clearing his throat, and Toni can’t bring herself to turn around just yet. 

“Drysdale. Lovely party, isn’t it? What’s brought you down to MIT this autumn evening?” Ty’s tone is laced with sugar, saccharine and gooey. Toni hates it.

“Get lost, Stone,” her savior says. Ty’s deep register is _nothing_ compared to his, an edge to his growl that screams danger and warning. Toni tightens her hand around her glass, her muscles still tense, and regulates her breathing.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Ty chuckles, “no harm, no foul. I’ll catch ya on the flip side. See you later, _Antonia_.”

The glass creaks, ominous, in Toni’s grip.

The balcony door shuts, and Toni finds herself watching the crowd below her, America’s best and brightest, fucking and snorting and smoking away the end of midterms. The only noise she can hear is the sound of her heart, a rapid staccato threatening to leap from her chest.

Ty’s ego isn’t a match for the silent man standing behind her. At least this man’s confidence is assured.

The click of expensive shoes on the concrete spears through her thoughts, measured and careful, and Toni finds her body relaxing, the grip on her drink loosening. She takes another sip, its strawberry taste bursting like pop rocks on her tongue.

The steps stop right behind her, reverberating as if the two of them are in an echo chamber.

Toni is seventeen, a senior at MIT, and one of the smartest people alive. She built a car engine when she was seven. She’s already single handedly revolutionized artificial intelligence, DUM-E’s basic code being upgraded daily. Her current work deals with creating an AI that will be able to make phone calls, schedule appointments, and order machinery parts with a simple voice command. Her AI will have a personality. No one will dare compare her work to fucking _Siri_.

She doesn’t think about the name she’s chosen for this project or the fact that her AI’s more a companion than an assistant.

Even knowing just these things about her, how much she’s accomplished in her short life so far, Toni feels small and helpless with this man behind her.

A large palm lands on her hip. Toni doesn’t jump, doesn’t tense.

“You’re graduating soon.” His murmur slides like melted chocolate down her back. Toni bites her lip, stubborn to the last, and spies Ty exiting the house and bee lining for a bikini clad coed. She fixes her gaze on them, distracting her, always distracting.

Toni knows it like she knows the back of her hand: the moment she lays her eyes on him, she will be lost.

His other hand’s fingers dig into her hair, the loose ponytail being forced down, the hair tie sliding off. Her scalp burns at the gentle pressure and Toni clenches her toes.

“Toni,” the man breathes. His hand in her hair twists, tightening ruthlessly, and Toni snaps her eyes shut as her head is pulled back to his chest. “Baby girl, why’re you closing those pretty mocha eyes?” His breath is hot against her neck and shoulder. Toni feels her heart racing even faster, the slide between her thighs growing and growing, and her hips are pulled back against his. The air around them tightens, stills, like baited breath. “Open your eyes for me, princess.”

Toni cracks open her eyes, blinking slow. The predatory smirk on his lips, pouty and red, stops her heart.

“Good girl,” Ransom coos.

Dark eyes, deep blue and _mean_ , predatory and possessive, framed by long, dark eyelashes. A strong jawline, compelling Toni to run her fingers down the length of it. Brunet hair, styled back, long and still loose. Every part of his expression and façade calls to every part of Toni. He’s her ultimate weakness.

What a funny thought. Seventeen-year-old Toni Stark, heiress to Stark Industries and a firm believer in hard work, putting herself at the mercy and in the care of thirty-two-year-old Ransom Drysdale, a trust fund baby who’s never worked a day in his life.

“Stone seemed awful familiar with you still, Toni.” Smooth fingers begin to walk up her side, slow, each point of contact like a drop of water in a desert. “Do I need to speak with him?”

She shakes her head, unable to speak or look away from his gaze. His fingers reach her throat, his pointer and his thumb resting on either side of her neck.

There’s a hand in her hair and a hand on her throat, and yet Toni has never felt so safe.

“Are you sure? You know you’re mine, princess. We don’t want a repeat of Bain, do we?”

Sunset Bain. Flashes of the older woman eating Toni out until she screamed cross her mind, and Toni resists a shiver. She can’t forget Sunset getting caught by Ransom, stealing Toni’s designs; Sunset blackmailing Ransom with ill-gotten nudes of Toni.

Sunset dying in cold blood as Ransom looked on. Ransom picking Toni up just an hour later to treat her to dinner.

He chuckles. “But maybe you have grown too lax. Should show you again why you’re mine.”

“I know,” Toni says. “I know why.”

“Is that why you’re at a party hosted by Bain’s old sorority? Is that why you’re standing on Bain’s old balcony?” Ransom hums, his mouth ticking up to the side as his eyebrows raise in a quick, jittered movement. His eyelashes brush against the apples of his cheeks.

“Finish your drink, Toni.” He releases her hair, but the hand at her neck stays in place, a presence she can’t ignore.

Toni raises the glass to her lips, taking another sip. Ransom places a single finger at the bottom of the glass, tipping it toward her mouth. The liquid fills her mouth in a rush, and she swallows it down, letting him set the pace as her throat works against the press of his hand.

He takes it from her when it’s empty, placing it on the railing. He pulls her body away from any prying eyes, leading her into Sunset’s old bedroom, and presses her between him and the wall. He leans down to her cheek, grazing a kiss against it, his lips warm and soft.

The memories haunts her in moments like this, of her history with Ransom and the events that led to this. Toni thinks of when she had first met Ransom Drysdale and the Thrombey clan. She had been fifteen, dragged along by her mother’s unforgiving grip, and introduced to one of Massachusetts’ most influential families. _High society mingles with high society_ , Maria had told her, and Toni had to be on a first name basis with the Thrombeys if she were to attend MIT. The patriarch was nice enough, patient as he taught her the rules of Go, and then had laughed as she beat him within two games—but the rest of the family left much to be desired. His daughter and her husband were entitled and fake, sucking up to Toni and Maria with nary a bat of an eyelash. The rest of the family followed suit, aiming for pleasant and overshooting by a parsec.

But Ransom was _real_ , honest in his entitlement, and didn’t try to suck up to her. She was a child, and Hugh Ransom Drysdale wasn’t about to suck up to a child.

“So you admit you suck up to adults,” she had said.

He had blinked once, his gaze turning shrewd, and the temperature dropped around her, colder and colder with each second that his gaze focused on her—and then it broke as a boisterous laugh had erupted out of him.

That single comment was enough to capture his attention, if only for a moment. The next time she had seen him, she had been sixteen and playing Go against Harlan’s nurse, Marta, the two of them tied in an equal amount of wins and losses. He had entered the room as if he’d owned it, blazing in with a flare of power and wealth. An offhand comment to his grandfather about his choice of entertainment had reached her ears, and even though every iota of her senses were focused on him, Toni had managed to eke out a win.

When she had looked up, his gaze had been dark on her, intense and swirling with a sense of mystery Toni hadn’t known how to interpret. She broke his gaze, flickering to the floor and then back up to his chest, and she could feel the triumph radiating off him.

After that, she found herself seeing him everywhere. At every weekend party Ty hosted, at the coffee shop Rhodey and she stopped at each morning, at the bar Sunset dragged her to Thursday nights. He was an itch she couldn’t scratch, pulling her in without a single effort. And then he had begun to approach her, to take her out to dinner, to _mentor_ her on how to handle high society. It didn’t matter that Toni knew everything he said—she’d been enraptured by the flash of his white teeth, by the rumble of his praise when she answered correctly, and she couldn’t find it within herself to tell him off. She had wanted more of him, had craved every scrap of attention he would give her, and the predatory smile on his face when she would bite her lip in his presence was thrilling.

She had known he would watch her through her bedroom window. She had always left the curtains parted when Sunset and Ty visited, or when she found her release alone. On some level, she had known it was wrong, but Toni wanted to show him just how much of a _kid_ Toni really was.

And then. On her seventeenth birthday, he had taken her out to dinner, dressed in a Hugo Boss tuxedo. He had taken her to his house afterwards, crowded her against the kitchen island, and had shown her the photos of Sunset’s mutilated body as he’d fucked into her, her dress tucked up to her hips.

“You’re mine now, baby girl,” he had groaned into her ear. “She was going to hurt you. She was going to take your ideas, your _fortune_ , and I couldn’t let her do that. You understand, right? I killed her for you, and I’ll kill anyone else who even thinks of hurting you. You’re mine.”

Toni remembers screaming his name and begging for more as he had laughed behind her. She remembers chanting in response to his demands, a litany of words as tears streamed down her face. “I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours.”

“Princess.” Ransom breaks her out of her recollection with that single word, demanding her attention. She’s helpless but to obey. Toni meets his eyes in the low light of the bedroom, and he groans, hand reaching for her cheek, rough and possessive. “God, I haven’t even done anything yet and you already look like you’re ready to come for me. What _were_ you thinking of? Tell me, Toni.”

Her head swims, and the moisture between her legs feels like a waterfall, soaking through her panties and leaving her cunt throbbing. She doesn’t know when he did it, but his hand holds her wrists above her head. She can’t move her head, can’t move away from him, covered and caged in by his bulk, and sparks fly off her skin.

It’s euphoria.

“Ransom.” Her voice is absolutely wrecked, trembling and weak, and his eyes dilate at the sound. She can’t get another word out, and repeats, her voice high and needy, “ _Ransom_.”

His cock twitches against her stomach.

“Do you need me to fuck you, baby girl?” He purrs the question into the air between them. Toni whimpers, rocking herself against him. The moonlight catches his eyes, and the glint of danger leaves her thighs trembling. “Use your words.”

“Please.” She’s caught in the jaws of a predator and wants nothing more than to be swallowed whole. “Yes, please.”

“Tell me what you were thinking of if you want my cock that badly.” His eyes steel, but his lips split, stretching and stretching into a grin. He already has her in his clutches, yet experience has taught Toni that Ransom loves nothing more than to play with his prey. He leans in, his mouth brushing the air against hers, and the grip on her cheek is the only thing holding her back from meeting his lips. “Tell _daddy_.”

“Fuck,” she cries, and that word in his mouth breaks her, leaving her squirming in his hold and begging for more, undulating against his iron hold on her body. “Daddy, fuck, I want—was thinking of our first time—please, daddy—”

His lips crash against her, his grip on her cheek bruising in its intensity, and Toni moans into it, heady and weak to his command. Ransom kisses like he’s devouring her, like he’s sucking her very soul out for him to taste, to mold, to _own_. Toni gives him everything she has. Lets him consume her.

He pressed her wrists against the wall hard, releasing them and then reaching for the bottom of Toni’s dress, tucking it up to her stomach. Toni flexes her fingers, holding her hands where Ransom left them, and shivers.

“You want to be daddy’s good girl tonight?” He cups her over her underwear and Toni bucks in his hold. “Or are you going to be my bad girl?”

“Good girl, daddy, I’m your good girl, promise—”

“Shh.” Ransom kisses up toward her ears, groaning as his lips meet the earrings secured in her lobes. “You _must_ be my good girl, wearing the earrings daddy bought for you.”

His hand between her legs massages her, rubbing the fabric against her overheated skin. Toni whimpers.

“I wonder if you’re wearing anything else I’ve bought you?”

It’s a rhetorical question and they both know it. He brings both hands to the sides of her underwear and slides it down, and it hits the floor with a faint plop, a testament to how wet she is. Her dress, bunched up around her waist as it is, blocks their view, and Ransom drags it over her head. She had decided earlier to forego a bra, and listening to the muffled curse that escapes his mouth reassures her in her decision.

Both of her nipples are pierced, barbells running through the skin. On either side of the barbells is a letter made of diamonds, R D glittering as the light reflects off them. Ransom reaches up and runs his hand, actions rough, around her right nipple. Toni gasps, her head hitting the wall behind her, and Ransom pinches her.

Her other hand runs down her body until he reaches her clit, and the vertical clitoral hood piercing clacks against his fingernail.

“Got my fucking initials pierced in diamonds on your skin,” he bites out, enraptured by the piercings on her body, “my fucking mark on you, ‘cause you’re mine, huh, baby? You’re daddy’s. Nobody is ever gonna take you from me. I swear I’ll murder them for touching what’s mine.”

Toni hates herself for how aroused it makes her to hear him flaunt that around, the fact that she’s just his _possession_ , that he’ll dispose of anyone who touches what’s his. She hates how much she loves it.

“Think I’m gonna have a gift for you soon anyway, baby girl.” Toni fucking gushes at that. She hates herself.

“Tell me, daddy.”

“Fuck, you beg so pretty for me.” The words are a growl. Toni wants. “Still thinking about Stone touching you.” He flicks her nipple, the sharp edge of his manicured nail sending a rush of hurt down to her belly. “Fuckin’ taunted me when he left. _Antonia_. I’m going to make him suffer before I let him choke on his own dick, and then I’m going to go home, my hands covered in his filthy blood, and I’m going to fuck you so hard into my bed you’ll feel me for _weeks_.”

His fingers tug on her clit piercing, the pressure and sensation both overwhelming—and then he reaches down and plunges two fingers into her cunt, the wet slide smooth and punishing.

“Goddamnit, oh, fuck, _yes_ —”

“Yeah, baby girl? Or maybe you’d like it better if I brought you with me, hmm? Fuck you while he watches, gets to see you cry for me and beg for your daddy to come inside your hole? Is that what my princess wants?”

Toni sobs, rocking against his fingers, and Ransom bends down to bite at her nip, the areola already red from his rough treatment. She rises up onto her toes, begging with her body, and Ransom laughs, deep.

“Yeah, give it to me, _Antonia_ , give it to me,” he growls, and he swipes his thumb over her clit, a tease of pressure, and Toni screams his name as she comes around his fingers, sobbing and writhing against his body.

“God, shit, fuck—” Toni barely registers the sound of his belt unbuckling and his pants being jerked down, lost in her post-orgasmic high, until the sharp sting of him squeezing her clit hard has her jerking to the present, finding his eyes with hers. “Wrap your hands around my shoulders, Antonia, do it now—”

He hoists her up against the wall and her arms and legs wrap around him with no effort, too used to the sensation of him manhandling her against any vertical surface he can find.

She slides onto his cock with a groan, oversensitive and trembling, and Ransom fucks himself in without even a moment for her to adjust. Toni digs her fingernails into his shoulders, her head knocking against the wall with each thrust, and Ransom chuckles at her blissed out expression.

“I want to keep you on my cock all fucking day.” His voice is breathless, pupils dilated so wide that the blue isn't even a thin band of color, and Toni squeezes around him. He pumps his next thrust harder in retaliation, biting at her neck. “Cover you in fucking diamonds and gold, lay you out on my Doppio Ajour bedsheets, and fill you with my cock and my come until you’re so drunk off the feel of me you can’t even tell me what one plus one is. I want you just begging for me, for more, _insatiable_.”

“Daddy, ‘m gonna come again,” Toni says, her cheeks sticky with the mascara sliding down them.

“Come on my cock, baby girl. Let me feel it. Make sure you know who you fucking belong to.”

“Only you, daddy, Ransom, fuck, fuck.” His cock rams against her g-spot, a relentless assault that’s too much and not enough at the same time, and Toni’s breathing quickens, fast and rapid, and her head grows lightheaded at the overwhelming sensory overload—

His teeth bite against her bottom lip and she comes, her legs loosening from around his waist, body boneless and completely at his mercy.

He could carve his initials into her with a knife right now and Toni would lie back and let him.

His grip tightens around her thighs and he thrusts into her a dozen more times, finally stilling inside her with a groan, slumping forward until there’s no air between their bodies. His arms shake with the effort of holding her up.

“Ransom.” Toni says his name like it’s benediction, like it’s a prayer, and her hands find the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. “Ransom.”

“Yeah, baby girl?” His tone is welcoming, gentle in the way he only ever is after an orgasm. Toni waits for his head to pull back, for his blue eyes to meet hers, and only then does she say—

“I want his fingers in a box.”

His smirk is vicious. His lamb demanding her lion.

Toni Stark is many things, but in the end, the only thing that matters is that she’s his.

“Whatever you want, baby girl.”


End file.
